Thu, 31 Dec 1998
1998 Cycle Tours // at 00:00
- 1998-Sep-21 1998 Portugal and Spain
-
A two month bicycle tour that I made through the Iberian Peninsula
from late September to late November 1998. In approximately seven
weeks cycling I covered 3,500 km, visited four countries, drank
many coffees and had a fantastic time.
During my first week in Portugal a hurricane had just finished demolishing part of central America and making it's way across the Atlantic, when it arrived I was treated to almost constant rain for a week.
Sat, 21 Nov 1998
Saturday: Melbourne // at 23:59
Arrived back in Melbourne at 06:15 and leisurely made my way through customs and to the baggage area. There was no point hurrying since bicycles and other large pieces of luggage are the last things to be brought out.
By the time that the bike turned up the crowds had dispersed and I walked straight through customs. There was a momentary delay when I stated that the bike was not spotlessly clean, but after a quick peek in the box I was allowed to continue without having to quarantine it for six months!
A cup of coffee and a brief breakfast and then there I was, back in Melbourne.
Fri, 20 Nov 1998
London — Melbourne // at 23:59
As I was sitting in the aircraft on the ground at Frankfurt I got to see the way that Lufthansa staff handled my bicycle. The box came down the ramp with the other oversize luggage and the handler attempted to pick it up by wrapping his arms around it length-ways rather than use the hand-holds cut into the sides of the box. Since his arms couldn't quite reach around it and it slid out of his grasp he just threw it across the ground onto the trolley. It hit the rear of the trolley and started to fall back towards him so swung his leg out and with a roundhouse kick kicked it back upright. I was wishing that I had a video camera with me. Thanks Lufthansa, baggage handling on top of the attempted expensive bike fee!
Once I got home and unpacked it I discovered that the front brakes were so badly twisted around the mounts that I had to completely disassemble them, re-attach the mounting studs, and then rebuild the brakes.
Thu, 19 Nov 1998
Thursday: Game over… time to head home // at 00:00
Today: 0km
Trip: 3442.8km
Two months, three countries, 3442.8 kilometres, but it has come to an end.
Where?
Sun, 15 Nov 1998
Sunday: Bramham to Reading // at 00:00
Today: 0km
Trip: 3442.6km
John cooked us a big fry-up breakfast before we headed off to Warwick to catch up with Amy. We got there around noon, but she still hadn't got home from her party in Oxford the night before. Such is the life of a first-year university student. She was stuck at the station waiting for a friend and eventually turned up around 2:30, then the seven of us went out for a late lunch at a pub in a nearby village, three pretty 19 year-old girls, Toby, John, Lynn and myself.
Afterwards, Bev and Heidi gave Toby and myself a lift into Oxford to catch the train, Heidi back to Southampton, Toby and I to Reading.
I tried to call Jo from the station but she'd gone out, I was thinking of heading in to London to visit if she'd been in. Turns out a good thing I hadn't suggested it because just after we got on the train there was an enormous bang, all the lights went out, and everyone ended up lying on the floor. Another train had run into the back of ours as we sat at the station platform!
We stood on the train for about 45 minutes, occasionally hearing messages stating “There has been a delay, thank you for your cooperation.” Nobody knew anything, no one had any idea of what was going on. Some ambulance officers came and treated a few concussions and other injuries, but no one asked if people were OK or anyone was hurt, I guess you were meant to grab them if you needed them.
All the while, more and more people were turning up for other trains and asking whether ours was for Reading, or London, or Bristol...
Eventually there was an announcement that a three carriage train would leave for Reading from Platform 2, on the other side of the tracks, so everyone trooped over the bridge and crowded as close to the platform edge as possible. Since only a quarter of us would fit, everyone wanted to be the ones to get onto the train. I was convinced that someone would end up falling onto the tracks.
An amazing number of people crammed on board and we spent the half hour trip to Reading standing up like sardines. In order to leave the station we had to back up and cross over onto another track, giving us all a good view of the two crashed trains, still stuck together.
Toby and I finally got to Reading at about 9:00PM and went straight to the pub for a much-needed pint, and talked about a whole range of things. It was while sitting there that I realised how sore my left shoulder was from where it had bashed into the train, and that three fingers of my left hand were half numb with pins and needles for about an hour, in addition to sore muscles all down my neck from whacking my head into the carriage wall!
Finally got home just before 11PM and fell straight into bed, quite an event-filled day!
Where?
Sat, 14 Nov 1998
Fri, 13 Nov 1998
Friday: Bramham (and Leeds) // at 00:00
Today: 0km
Trip: 3442.6km
A strange coincidence — yesterday afternoon as I was walking through Leeds I passed a shop called “Teenage Kicks” and started singing the song of the same name.... This morning Lyn left the TV on at breakfast and there was a brief interview with Fergal Sharkey, ex singer of The Undertones and now on the Radio Licensing board.
They opened the interview with a twenty year-old video clip of the Undertones playing their most famous song — “Teenage Kicks”.
Where?
Thu, 12 Nov 1998
Wed, 11 Nov 1998
Tue, 10 Nov 1998
Tuesday: Reading to Matlock (the hard way) // at 00:00
Today: 0km
Trip: 3442.6km
Slept most of the way to Derby in the bus, being exhausted from staying awake reading until 2am, and from all the running around with bus stupidities. It was noticably cooler at Derby than down south, my breath fogging, everyone wearing thick jackets. I asked someone for directions to the train station and they were of the “up there, keep left, right at the pub... you can't miss it” variety — I thought I didn't have a chance, but luckily quite quickly ran into signs pointing the right way. By now it was five to nine, there was a train waiting to go to Matlock. Phew! Lucky, since the next (and final) train wasn't for another two hours at eleven p.m. or so!
Finally I arrive at Matlock at around 21:30 and Gina came and picked me up from the station, she had my cousin Ben with her, and in the four years since I last saw him he looks as though he's doubled in height and stayed the same weight — seems quite human now! We decided to drop in on Kay — Ben's older sister — and surprise here, and wow, what a surprise! She didn't recognize me at first and then completely freeked out and ran around like crazy!
Ended up back at Gina and Simon's house talking till long after midnight. Unrolled my sleeping bag — finally — and slept on the floor since both bedrooms are full.
Where?
Sun, 08 Nov 1998
Sat, 07 Nov 1998
Fri, 06 Nov 1998
Thu, 05 Nov 1998
Wed, 04 Nov 1998
Tue, 03 Nov 1998
Mon, 02 Nov 1998
Sun, 01 Nov 1998
Sat, 31 Oct 1998
Fri, 30 Oct 1998
Friday: Santander // at 00:00
Today: 116.3km
Trip: 3103.5km
Avg: ??km/hr
Riding: ??
An absolutely magical day for my last day of riding in Spain. Blue sky, no wind, and a balmy autumn feel to the air. I left around 9:30 this morning, riding along the beach and my bike felt terrible! It was all twitchy and jumpy since this was the first day in almost six weeks that I've ridden with empty panniers!
Where?
Thu, 29 Oct 1998
Wed, 28 Oct 1998
Tue, 27 Oct 1998
Mon, 26 Oct 1998
Monday: San Sebastian // at 00:00
Today: 0km
Trip: 2711.2km
Avg: 0km/hr
Riding: 0
In the morning I walked up the hill and around the castle and fortifications, everything was all very wet and green, water dripping out of stone ceilings, moss growing everywhere.
I was sitting and thinking of all the little things I've seen, things I probably haven't written down, things I'll probably forget...
- the goat giving birth in the pouring rain, with the farmer standing by.
- the giant slug on the road
- the little boy on a bike that I raced in Portugal
- the storks, the little snake crossing the road, the road-kill toads and owls.
- the lack of public toilets, and subsequent piles of shit and paper at every castle and monument through the country
- the amazing number of monastries and convents, had me wondering how many people lived outside of them!
Where?
Sun, 25 Oct 1998
Sat, 24 Oct 1998
Fri, 23 Oct 1998
Thu, 22 Oct 1998
Thursday: Agramunt to Barbastro // at 00:00
Today: 109.12km
Trip: 2332.2km
Avg: 20.6km/hr
Riding: 5hr 16’ 22”
I managed to leave around 9:30 this morning and spent the first half of the day riding through flat, ordinary, honest farmland. Mostly piggeries and corn-fields, it was almost pleasant to be just riding — no touristy things to gawk at, no fabulous destination — just riding along, getting gradually closer to Pamplona.
Sticking to the back-roads I had a very quiet day, its feeling very autumnal all of a sudden, after weeks of the south and the coast. Further inland and further north I guess, there's a coolness in the air and the smell of autumn leaves.
Feeling quite tired and a bit sore for most of the day; I'm sure I overdid it in the first few weeks and I'm still not really eating enough. Lunch was a very welcome bocadillo con tortilla at ??.
Cruising along with my thoughts again, spent quite a lot of time thinking about a few friends and when we last spoke.
I contemplated riding on to Huesca but it would be a further 50 km and I don't think I'm up to it, or would collapse if I did, so stopped and spent the night at Barbastro. Barbastro is a very pleasant old town with a very run-down feel to it. As I wrote this I was sitting in the shade having a beer, looking at the autumn leaves blowing about.
An early dinner of fiddly char-grilled rabbit which had me smacking my lips and covered from head to toe in small bones and tasty morsels! Since I was so tired I had an early dinner, alone in the café then went back to bed for an early night.
Where?
Wed, 21 Oct 1998
Wednesday: Montserrat to Agramunt // at 00:00
Today: 118.3km
Trip: 2221.8km
Avg: 20.7km/hr
Riding: 5hr 42’
8:30 am and I found myself sitting half-way up the mountains watching the sun rise up out of the Meditteranean and over Barcelona, gradually lighting up the rocks around me. I left in the dark, coming out at about 7:30 to climb to the top, but with no map, no light and unmarked tracks criss-crossing the mountain I had only instinct to guide me, so I just kept heading up until I found a good rock to sit on, then sat on it!
Where?
Tue, 20 Oct 1998
Tuesday: Barcelona to Montserrat // at 00:00
Today: 63.36km
Trip: 2103.2km
Avg: 13.6km/hr
Riding: 4hr 37’ 4”
Getting out of Barcelona was a bit of a nightmare. None of the minor roads seemed to be signposted and I kept getting directed back towards the Autovias — of course bikes aren't allowed on the Autovias, so I had to keep turning around and heading back the way I'd come. It took me from 10:15 to about 12:30 to get out of the city, a grand total of around 20 kilometres! Even then the so-called “minor” road had solid truck traffic on it and went for miles through industrial estates.
Turning off at Marotrell towards Olessa was a huge relief, the traffic dwindled to nothing and I just cruised along in the sun besides the river. I could see Montserrat mountain for ages before I circled around it and got to Monistrol de Montserrat. There were a few hostels in the town but I decided to try and ride all the way up with my luggage.
Not regretting that ride, 10km of climbing, 45 minutes of riding and fantastic views.
Once at the top I had a very expensive cold drink and walked around for a while. Chatted to Tony, a spanish cyclist who had just ridden up the hill for a bit of exercise, then ran into two of the Canadian girls from the hostel in Barcelona. They were amazed that I'd got here and declared me to be completely mad.
Where?
Mon, 19 Oct 1998
Monday: Barcelona // at 00:00
Today: 0km
Trip: 2032.9km
Avg: km/hr
Riding:
Another day of being a tourist. I shouldn't have bothered with the two day bus pass yesterday. There was very little that I felt like seeing today — I was all museumed out. Did a bit of wandering around the shops this morning and saw a reasonable looking leather coat for 55000P, but not good enough to grab me.
I got off the bus at the bottom of Montjuc and found that half the places were closed since it was Monday, the other half were closed since it was siesta time! Walked up the mountain and looked at two very different views. To the north-east is the city and port, all very pretty, to the south-west is just miles of container shipping docks, incredibly industrial and industrious.
Coming back down the mountain I went on a huge walk down to the bay then around the beach, feeling mellow and thinking about friends I hadn't heard from for a while. I think being on my birthday in the one town I didn't like was what had started this off, then this morning I'd managed to check my email and got a couple of messages from parents and friends.
Later on I got completely lost walking back up from the beach and ended up at the Arc d Triumphe, turned north instead of west and it took me ages to get back to the hostel, stupidly wandering about with far too much money in my pocket since I'd just been to the bank.
Back at the hostel I found that someone had been fiddling with my bike and had removed the front wheel and left it on the ground next to the rest of the bike. I then went through a huge rigmarole with the hostel staff since they wouldn't let me bring the bike inside the hostel, then a tenant from downstairs started telling me off since the hostel guests are forbidden from storing bikes in the courtyard and must keep them inside the hostel! Eventually the hostel staff decided that she couldn't really remember one way or the other and let me put the bike in my room.
Where?
Sun, 18 Oct 1998
Sunday: Barcelona // at 00:00
Today: 0km
Trip: 2032.9km
Avg: 0km/hr
Riding: 0
Spent the day being a tourist on the bus, I should probably have only bought a one-day ticket since I managed to see nearly all the places I was interested in. And that was all the Gaudi buildings and Parc Guell.
I could have bought dozens of books on Gaudi and his works but resisted the lot since I'm not carrying them with me! The price of things in Barcelona is denting my budget too.
Most of the people from the hostel decided to go to dinner at a restaurant nearby, after getting there at 8:15 the doors weren't open so we strolled along Las Ramblas for a while, then came back at quarter to nine to find a queue stretching half-way round the block! The place was huge inside, with a main floor, raised mezzanine and a basement room that we occupied, food was fantastic and the service quick. I can see why it is so popular with the queues! Now if only I could remember it's name...
After dinner some went home, the rest of us went out for more desserts and coffee and beers and a good time, then came home in the rain. First time it has rained for weeks.
An excellent day, but the bike and bags are now drenched from being out in the courtyard in the rain.
Where?
Sat, 17 Oct 1998
Saturday: Barcelona // at 00:00
Today: 0km
Trip: 2032.9km
Avg: 0km/hr
Riding: 0
7:30am, sitting in Barcelona bus terminal after a horrible night in the bus. The bus was smoky, the guy in front snored and the lady sitting next to me smoked even though it was the non-smoking half. Her reasoning — the smoking half was full and like most Spaniards, she smokes.
Observations from the night: The bike survived but the bar-ends rub on the top tube when all folded back, and the whole Spanish coast is an ugly mass of resort hotels, concrete boxes stretching to infinity.
For the first time I was too early to get a bed in a hostel, all the people told me to come back after 10am, so guess what, had a couple of coffees while I waited, then got a bed in the first place I tried.
A shower and unpack then off to be a tourist around Barcelona, which is all a little overwhelming since Barcelona is so big and there's so much to see!
Picasso musem was next and found some figure sketches I liked, together with some almost luminous pastels that I enjoyed, but most of his later works didn't interest me. By this stage my legs were tired and the overnight bus ride was starting to catch up with me as I headed down to the harbour to look at the rich peoples' boats... and then to pay a rich person's entry fee to get into the aquarium.
It was an excellent aquarium, huge and well laid out with impressive displays, shame about the number of people who hammered on every glass panel to get a reaction from the fish, despite all the signs telling them not to.
Nearly asleep on my feet I walked across to the Maritime museum, again fairly impressive, but nowhere near as crowded as the aquarium. And definitely unlike the streets, which are packed with people. Barcelona is the first place I've been where it feels that it could be dangerous to go walking down the wrong street.
Lashed out and paid the money to have a laundrette wash all my clothes, the time has definitely come to get rid of the rotting sock smell that infests my bag.
Spent the evening chatting with the mixed collection of Canadians, Americans and a couple of Aussies, had dinner and a bottle of wine, then tried to go out since it was Saturday night, I was so tired I just gave up and went home early to bed.
Where?
Fri, 16 Oct 1998
Friday: Almeria // at 00:00
Today: 22.59km
Trip: 2032.9km
Avg: 6.1km/hr
Riding: 3hr 33’ 33”
Happy birthday to me.
Stuck in a town I don't like, and I can't really figure out how to get away from quick enough.
11:30 and I've been rolling gently around town, I checked out of the hostel and got a pleasant surprise paying the bill, less than I expected, then went back and forth between bus and train stations, neither making very much sense to me so off to the tourist information and found that the next train to Barcelona is on Sunday, so I booked a bus ticket for this evening.
After a few restorative coffees I rode up to the Alcozabar along what is possibly the steepest road so far, I couldn't see anywhere to park the bike so didn't go inside. From the top of the hill I could look down on a rehabilitation area for Saharan animals with lots of antelope type things. Have I said how hot and dry it is here?
Then rode down and along the beach foreshore for another coffee or two and tried to ring my parents but the phone rejected both my credit cards as not valid. With heart in mouth I went back to town and used the card at an autoteller so I guess he phone system just didn't like my cards.
Large pizza for lunch near the ferry dock then once more along the beach and coasted along staring at my computer to watch the odometer tick over 9,000.0 km. More coffee, spent the afternoon watching the beach, the misty hills, the girls and the world.
7:30pm and I found the bus and got a complete telling off in vehement Spanish from a bus driver who didn't want my bike on his bus. I tried to explain that the tourist office had said it was ok and he relented to the extent that I had to completely strip the bike and stuff it all into a tiny little compartment next to the engine. I'm not sure that the door to the compartment closes properly so my bike may end up somewhere along the highway. Thinking about it, the only irreplacable thing in there is my last notebook, so next time I get access to my bag it is going into my bumbag.
During the early evening we drove through the desolate areas where all the old spaghetti westerns were filmed.
Went to sleep after staring at mile after mile of ugly concrete coastal development.
Where?
Thu, 15 Oct 1998
Wed, 14 Oct 1998
Tue, 13 Oct 1998
Mon, 12 Oct 1998
Sun, 11 Oct 1998
Sat, 10 Oct 1998
Fri, 09 Oct 1998
Thu, 08 Oct 1998
Thursday: Cordoba to Sevilla // at 00:00
Today: 151.91km
Trip: 1392.8km
Avg: 23.6km/hr
Riding: 6hr 23’ 49”
Time to head off on the bike... It's around nine in the morning, I'm sitting in a café opposite the Mezquita being smiled at by the girl who works here, sipping an excellent coffee. It's a tough life...
Compared to yesterday, this morning was bliss. I got up, packed up, put my seat up, then got out without having to break out! A quick breakfast and reread a letter from Jo, then the normal morning chores of counting the money and working out how much I spent yesterday.
Eeek! Somehow I can't account for all the money! p3500 seems to be missing. Hmmm, breakfast, coffee, snacks, dinner, room, beers... Aha! It's yesterday's room bill. Phew.
It was a magic day riding out of Cordoba, despite one slight detour, the first 20km along the river were dead flat and I found I was just cruising along at 30km/hr or more, grinning like a fool and singing out loud.
Somewhere just after Almodovar I tried to be clever and put on my sunglasses while riding, no mean feat when the bike is fully laden with panniers. The hill got steeper, the bike got faster, the glasses got tangled in my shirt and I lost concentration. A loud BANG!, followed by thwap, thwap, thwap.... I'd hit an odd chunk of metal that was lying on the road and it had punctured my tyre. Not just the tyre either! It had gone in through the tyre and tube, out through the tube, through the rim tape and punched a hole in the box section of the wheel rim itself! Luckily it came out when it was flung around or it would have shredded the tyre open, as it is, I've had to put a bandage of ruined tube around the inside of the torn spot. No more spare tubes now and I'm determined not to be cocky, no matter how good I'm feeling just keep concentrating on riding!
More flat and cruisy riding along the valley, although I was now erring on the side of caution and stopping to check the damaged tyre every 10km or so, making sure that the tear hadn't worsened and that nothing else had happened!
Lunch under some gum trees at about 90km or so, definitely not as good as my last lunch on the road on the way to Montoro, the bread roll had dried out and was very stale.
Arrived in Sevilla in good time then got disoriented riding in and ended up being turned around and coming down along the river, then stopped at the Tourist Info. for a map and a hostel list. On the way out a guy was busy touting for one hostel and had just grabbed two very tired looking Candaian girls and offered them a triple room. I asked him about single rooms and he just didn't have any, tried to fit me in with the two girls but they wouldn't share with a scruffy Australian cyclist, so he directed me off in down the street and told me to go La Cruces de Patio. The name sounded vaguely familiar and I pulled out Jo's letter and found she'd stayed there a few months ago.
More disorientation, I stopped at a corner to check my map and a guy on a moped started offering me a room “just a minute away”. He sounded very suspect and wouldn't tell me the name or the address, just “follow me,” and “along here a little.” Handed me a business card and it was for La Cruces de Patio, I guess I was doomed to stay there!
Where?
Wed, 07 Oct 1998
Wednesday: Montoro to Cordoba // at 00:00
Today: 50.05km
Trip: 1238.3km
It took me until 10:30 to break out of my room! The strange door handle and combined lock crumbled and broke apart when I tried to open it, leaving me stuck on the inside! I had to unscrew half the doorknob in order to get out. I tried to rehearse how to say in Spanish that I'd broken the lock, but when I went downstairs to pay, two tourist busses had just arrived and the barman was busy with coffees and brandies, he just gave me a quick smile, grabbed my money and raced back up the bar. I rode off — rather quickly — with a guilty feeling, and half expecting to see the hotel owner racing up behind me!
The 40km to Cordoba turned into 50, and were a major hassle. Bikes are not allowed on the Autovia and there doesn't appear to be an alternate route. A half-plowed farm track zig-zags along on one side or the other, degenerating into a plowed field in places, and crossing back under the Autovia through low culverts. Very heavy and slow going.
A note to those who may follow: Stay off the N-IV!
One funny moment was when I came over the brow of a field and saw two police cars parked side-ways across the dirt road at the bottom of the hill. My guilty conscience about the hotel door caused my heart to leap into my mouth, I half expected to be hauled back to Montoro. Nothing of the kind, it was just two highway patrol cars parked off the main road while the officers relaxed in the sun with a coffee!
I was hot and tired when I finally made my way in through Cordoba, missed the tourist office and had to double back. The first couple of places I tried were booked out so I half paniced and took a double room as the only room available at the next place, rather than keep on looking and risk missing out entirely.
The rest of the afternoon I looked around the tourist shops, all of which I enjoyed far more than the same in Toledo. There's lots of leather and ceramics, nothing I really wanted, or wish to carry on a bike! There are masses of handbags and a few half-decent hats, but the largest I could find was a size 60 and wouldn't go on my head — un cabo grande. After shopping I headed around towards the Alcazar, somewhere walking around the outside I was stopped by a police car and told off — I think. I have no idea what I was doing wrong though, the safest approach seemed to be to smile, nod, and walk off in the direction that he was pointing. Maybe I wasn't meant to walk on the grass.
Followed the tourist throng into the Mesquita — 800p entrance fee, a bit of a shock — and it was magnificent. Shame that the christians made such a mess of the building turning the mosque into a cathedral! Slightly annoying with the constant flickering and flashing of all the (forbidden) cameras, but the guards were ignoring them, so I did too.
A fascinating effect studying the building, focus on the details of a niche or a wall or a chapel and it appears to be Christian. Step back and look at the larger structures and it changes completely, back to Muslim, impossible to disguise.
Where?
Tue, 06 Oct 1998
Tuesday: Ciudad Real to Montoro // at 00:00
Make k's while the sun shines...
Today: 168.2km
Trip: 1185.9km
It was a very long day, not really tiring, just so many things happened!
The sun was out when I left at 9, but it was only about 10°C or less, I was glad I'd put on my warm jersey for the first time. I grabbed some pastries from a café and headed out of town.
Feeling pretty good, I initially thought I'd see about riding all the way to Cordoba — guessing that it might be around 140-150km. The first road sign I saw was a very large, and very clear “Cordoba 198km.” There goes that idea!
The first two hours were into a cold headwind, almost straight south across the plain. Rather than go into Puertollano I tried to follow the detours around the town — labelled as a truck route. Somehow I ended up circling the town and accidently came back in from the south. Bought some water while I was there and thought about stopping for lunch, but it was still early so I headed on out through coal stockpiles, rail yards and a power station.
The next 40km were some of the most desolate country I've ever been through — treeless, bone dry paddocks with a few sheep, and the sight of mountain ranges in the distance. I climbed the first pass past Brazatortas (circa. 850m) and the view back to the north was impressive. I was going to have lunch at the top, then decided to roll on down to the flat... Once down on the plain again there was nothing until the next ridge, so on I went.
I finally stopped at the bottom of Puerto de Niefla for lunch, and had one of those thoroughly satisfying outdoors meals of bread and sardines and chorizo, washed down with cold, fresh water, then got back on the bike for the ride on up the ridge — 950m this time.
Once over the top I was in the mountains, the riding wasn't too bad and the scenery was a vast improvement, mostly pine forests reaching right up to the road. I eventually came to a campground at about the 100km point, but since I didn't really have much food with me, I decided to continue on for a while and see if I could find a town...
Azuel was too far off the road, Cardeña didn't seem to have any hotels, so onwards I headed for Montoro. Due to roadworks I took the scenic route (C-510) rather than the “main” road (A-420). A brilliant decision that was, I could almost touch the trees on either side of the road, there were no cars for at least an hour, and then when the valley finally opened out I could see for miles. Along the way I kept seeing deer in the forests and at the side of the road.
Montoro is very picturesque, on a hill above the river, and I think there must have been a bike race through here recently. Huge slogans painted and chalked on the road gradually crept into my subconscious as I recognised the names and teams — I guess it must have been the Vuelta... Somewhere along the way a pannier bolt disappeared too. Two young boys brought smiles to my face when they ran alongside me up through the streets calling out “Miguel, Miguel....”
I toured around and around the very hilly streets of Montoro, didn't find a hotel or any accommodation, but did discover that their week long festival starts today! I headed on out of town towards the main highway, and found a Hostal at the junction. Showered and changed, then headed back into town to experience the fiesta...
I need not have hurried, after a few beers I found myself wandering around at about 10pm, since nothing starts until midnight! I walked up what I thought was the driveway of a derelict hotel — it appears to be nearly new, but empty and completely overgrown. The view was great, down over the town and river under the light of the full moon, but then some torches came on up on the balcony and made the adrenalin jump! I didn't really want to meet any angry Spanish security guards — my chances of successfully talking my way out of trespassing being nearly zero — so I tried to sneak out through the gardens. Heading up the hill I ran into a row of fences and set off some mean sounding dogs, so this way wasn't working. Then down through overgrown shrubs I finally found myself at the top of a 6m wall, concreted for most of its height, and and one that dropped straight down onto the road! Not only that, but I was stuck in a blackberry thicket. Extricating myself I finally managed to back-track and then walked quietly and briskly out through the main hotel driveway!
After all that excitement it was nearly midnight, I made it back to the town centre and listened to the music for a while, then back to the main part of the fair for a few drinks and some dancing. A couple of girls came and danced with me, then tried unsuccessfully to bridge the language gap. One spoke a little English and had a boyfriend, her cousin didn't speak any English and wanted to dance with me... We smiled, we danced, we toasted and drank each other's health, but the lack of communications got the better of us and they laughed and left.
A few more beers and a long walk back to the hotel. It was 2am, all the doors were locked, and I only managed to get in because a cleaner was leaving and saw me in the carpark! What a day...
Where?
Mon, 05 Oct 1998
Sun, 04 Oct 1998
Sat, 03 Oct 1998
Saturday: Oropessa to Toledo // at 00:00
Today: 118.6km
Trip: 890.3km
A crisis of conscience this morning; will I ride alone, or will I ride to Toledo with the other four? Nearly drove me crazy yesterday, but they were just too nice to say no to. As a result I ended up riding slower than I would have by myself, sat out the front for the whole day, tried hard not to get too impatient with all their stops, etc. etc.
Since it was the last day of their trip they were in no hurry and didn't really want it to end, we didn't get away from Oropessa until 10:30 and it was already very hot and sunny. I think we all got sunburnt again riding across the plains. Dianne was sick all morning and riding very slowly, she and Peter left the rest of us to ride along at their own pace and caught up at lunch in Talavera de la Reina.
Lunch in a park in Talavera de la Reina was a feast of bread and cheese and turkey and pastries in a lush green park — a wonderfully cool change from the dryness of the plains all morning.
Its grape harvesting time and a few of the smaller vineyards are already doing their picking, gypsies and other itinerant workers bent over in the vines as we rode past. Dianne stopped to take a photo of one group and I don't think she had their approval, they got very angry and started screaming and shouting and were about to start throwing stones at her as she hastily packed her camera and rode off!
The closer we got to Toledo, the slower they all wanted to go. A few more photo stops, more rests than were necessary, they wanted a good hotel for their last night since they were flying out tomorrow. It was around 6pm by the time we finally reached the city and parted ways. I said my goodbyes and started the task of hunting for backpacker accommodation in a tourist city where everyone else has arrived by bus or train in the morning or noon at the latest!
Around and around I went, absolutely everywhere was full and not a bed to be had. It was getting dark as I was heading back out of town, thinking I'd have to camp somewhere off the road and as a last resort I tried the Youth Hostel, which is in an old castle. I was thinking that it too would be full — but amazingly they had plenty of vacancies, maybe because it is well outside the city. I didn't care why, just thankful to find somewhere to stay.
Where?
Fri, 02 Oct 1998
Friday: Trujillo to Oropessa // at 00:00
Today: 108.0km
Trip: 772.5km
A big difference riding today, I was riding with four others — the four Americans that I met yesterday. Over an hour of stuffing around getting ready and making sure that everyone was ready and everyone had everything, then a long mother-hen lesson in the correct hand signals to use to indicate small pieces of gravel, minor bumps in the road, corners, etc. Once we were finally out on the road I was then told off for riding too near the traffic, then for riding too fast, etc. etc.
On the plus side, riding with people and having someone to talk to was very enjoyable!
Where?
Thu, 01 Oct 1998
Thursday: Cáceres to Trujillo // at 00:00
Today: 52.0km
Trip: 662.2
I think I've recovered from yesterday... and mostly from Tuesday, although I have a huge bruise on my bum, together with a sore neck, thigh and right shoulder! 9AM and time to get organised and on my way.
I said goodbye to the girls this morning, they'ld been looking at houses for somewhere to live for the next few months, slept through their first appointment but made it to the next few. They were hoping to have a better day today too — yesterday their car got towed away when they left it in the plaza while they were lying in bed with their hangovers.
A little luck and the assistance of my guardian angel and I managed to find a bike shop — a window display in a clothing store had some bike components as props, a small card stated that these were “supplied by ...,” so off I went following the map. The shop was closed for October, but the owner happened to be there as he was moving to new premises. I pointed and smiled and tried to work out how to explain “buckled wheel” in Spanish, he laughed and understood, and for 800p I had a new spoke and restored wheel.
I headed out of town at a very leisurely pace, determined to drink a lot of water, not to stress myself, and to pay a little more attention to the road surface... In two and a half hours I had reached Trujillo.
The first 20km or so were flat, just empty rolling grassy plains, no trees, nothing except wheat or whatever grain they are. Later on there were olive trees, then pigs and sheep, cattle, even a few donkeys. Circling overhead I saw numerous large hawks or buzzards, I think there's a national park nearby and that they're a protected species, but I can't remember what they're called...
I came over a hill about half an hour out of Trujillo and the town was just sitting there in front of me. High on a hill with the road leading straight up to it, stone walls and ruins and farms all around, it looked to me like something out of mythology.
Spent the afternoon sitting in the Plaza Mayor with a coffee — I think they gave me a double — sitting in the sun and writing. I should probably post a few postcards, but they're back in my bag in the Casa Roque. The pension I'm staying in is the Casa Roque, the Tourismo was closed, but the old man that runs the place was lurking outside and pounced on me when I arrived, not quite, but that's the general idea... I think cars need to banned from a few more of the plazas in the towns, make them even more enjoyable to sit in and pass the time.
I keep getting overwhelmed at the thought of trying to speak Spanish and ask any non-trivial question or conversation, and don't even try — so far I've managed to ask for beer, wine and coffee, but that's about it! It's amazing how far you can get in the world just being dumb and picking things up in the supermarkets...
I've been exploring the ruins of the castle, and the Francisco Pizarro museum. The views from the castle walls were phenomenal, there are no other hills for 20 to 30km across the plains, and there was nobody up there but me and the rooks — at least for a while. A slight amendment; just me and the rooks and the usual piles of litter everywhere. Very peaceful and majestic.
I arrived back at the pension from my rambles and had the shock of my life. No longer was there one touring bike sitting in the courtyard — there were seven! A group of four Americans are following pretty much the same route as I, and there's another couple here who's paths have crossed ours.
Diane, Peter, Susan and Michael — I think — invited me to join them for dinner and so the five of us went and had an excellent meal in the Plaza. It was Susan's birthday and they had bought her a cake. We all sang happy birthday, and then sat around and talked long into the night. The four of them are lawyers, all the same age — 31, and all here for a two and a half week trip from the US.
Where?
Wed, 30 Sep 1998
Wednesday: Hungover in Cáceres // at 00:00
Today: 0.0km
Trip: 605.8km
Last night I went out to dinner with three english girls who have just come to Cáceres to study Spanish for a year. We had a magnificent meal and then went out for a few beers in a nearby bar. One of the barmen was trying to pick up two of the girls and the drinks just seemed to get cheaper and cheaper, and larger and larger as the night progressed... I didn't get back to the pensiôn until around 2:30 AM, and today I'm feeling as sick as a dog....
The combination of beer, wine, spirits, sunstroke, seafood and yesterday's bike accident all combined in a horrendous way, I was copiously sick several times through the night...
Hiding from the light and recovering, I stayed in bed until 5pm and only then managed to drag myself out for a shower and to walk up the street for a sandwich. I was back in bed by 8:30pm! So much for the intention of getting the broken spoke fixed.
To top it all off, I've spent the day getting cramps in my thigh where I fell on it, I guess I've done some damage to the muscles...
At least I'm doing slightly better than the three girls, when they crawled out late in the afternoon to find that their car had been towed away, since they'd left it parked in the plaza after 8am! They were trying to explain to the police that their car had been stolen while the policeman was trying to explain that it had been towed away and impounded.
Where?
Tue, 29 Sep 1998
Tuesday: Castelo de Vide to Cáceres // at 00:00
Today: 129.76km
Trip: 605.8km
Welcome to Spain; welcome back to the western world!
It rained again all last night, and was damp and foggy as I left this morning. I found it hard to get organized and get on my way.
Soon after I left, the fog got heavier and turned to rain, then it rained steadily all the way to the Spanish border. I was still having a ball though, riding along, singing to myself and being happy. I resisted any urge I might have had to go and visit Marvão as I couldn't even see it off through the mist...
The Spanish-Portuguese border was a bit of a non-event. I'm not sure what I was expecting, maybe a bit apprehensive at having to produce passports or other documents. As it was, it was completely deserted, I was confronted by a few crumbling buildings, an old boom-gate chained in the open position and rusted solid, and a sign stating that the altitude was 688m.
Roads improved dramatically once I was in Spain — Portuguese roads seem to be about the same quality as average country Australia, Spanish roads generally better. The other noticable thing once over the border is that there are road signs everywhere, and they actually have distances written on them!
Everything was going so well that I decided to make for Cáceres this evening, about 120km I think….
I stopped in Valencia de Alcantara to grab a map, and ran into two Aussie backpackers and stopped to say hello. When I said it seemed to be raining throughout Portugal, they just launched into a typical Sydney-centric tirade saying that coming from Melbourne I should be used to lousy weather. I parted company as soon as was pleasantly possible….
The rest of the day's ride was on good roads, wide open rolling plains, fairly desolate empty country. A few cork trees here and there, lots of olive trees. Really obviously a different climate this side of the ridge that seperates the two countries. I was making good time with a tail wind most of the day until...
Somewhere along the road I came upon a section of road-works and hit a bump between old and new road surfaces. A trivial bump that normally wouldn't bother me, but with the load on at the moment, both panniers came off and one jammed into the rear wheel. There was a massive screeching slide to a halt, I nearly stayed upright, but dropped the bike at the last moment and fell hard on my backside. Damage included a scuffed-up pair of shorts, a wrenched shoulder and a huge bruise on my left buttock. I guess I came off fairly lightly, a snapped spoke and a large buckle in the rear wheel are more troublesome though. I rode the last 30km quite carefully after reassembling everything and ensuring that the panniers are more securely held in place with some rope. A little multi-lingual assistance from a crew of concerned road-workers helped me on my way.
In the afternoon in Cáceres I went out for a bit of a walk around and had a few bites to eat, but was generally feeling too stiff and sore, so headed back to my room to sit around for the rest of the afternoon. I ended up talking with a German who has just arrived by bus — two and a half days in the bus from Frankfurt.
The other important task was to change my money over, escudos to pesetas. Exchange rate was about 10.000 pesetas for 13.000 escudos.
Where?
Castelo de Vide, Valencia de Alcantara, Cáceres
Mon, 28 Sep 1998
Monday: Tomar to Castelo de Vide // at 00:00
Today: 120.4km
Trip: 474.7km
So many things happened today, and such a long day....
Poured with rain again overnight, but by the time I was leaving it had turned to a heavy mist. Pastries and um Galâo for breakfast.
In the early evening I sat on the rock walls at Castelo de Vide, gazing off to the north at the most amazing view. Miles and miles of mostly flat cork plantations, farm cottages — white and lived in, or grey and crumbling, the odd town — all on the on the tops of the hills where the forts and castles were built. The Castelo here was powerful, views all the way to Spain, to another hill-top town to the South, and for a while, completely deserted but for me....
Another sign of the Portuguese love of their history — someone has come up here and had a shit on the top of the castle walls, rather than try and find a toilet.
The medieval village inside the city walls looks as though it hasn't changed for centuries. Tiny cobbled alleys, I saw people living in one room, windowless stone cottages, no water and with an outside shared toilet. What do they do here? Just live I guess, the same that people have done for centuries.
Toothless old peasants, a prostitute covered in sores, people with no teeth — welcome to one of the poorer parts of Portugal.
The first part of today's ride was busy — Monday morning truck traffic until I turned off onto the secondary roads. Up and down to Abrantes, more wet eucalypt forest, more discarded nappies and plastic bottles at the roadside. There was a huge swooping descent to the river Tejô, with impressive views, and a huge paper and pulp mill right on the river — belching steam, and with an enormous yellowy-brown effluent stain downstream in the river. Gently — and not so gently — climbing to Gaviâo.
I rode through one village just on lunch time; all the mums were collecting the kids to take them home for lunch. Raced one of the kids for a block on his rusty old bike, all smiles and shouts.
I detoured around a few times in Gavião due to the ubiquitous road works, and was just leaving when I spotted two bikes with panniers sitting outside a café. They belonged to two Dutch girls who had come here from Madrid and were heading to Lisbon. It's been raining on them since Monday too! They warned me that Spain is much more expensive — eek! — the roads better, the traffic the same.
After saying goodbye, I headed out towards Tolossa and discovered that the road is now a freeway, no bikes allowed, or that somehow I'd managed to miss the turnoff for the side road — if there was one. Trusting to luck, I continued along the freeway to Arez and then Nisa, two very pretty villages, and saw the first of many little road-side shrines — a cross, a motorbike helmet, a few bunches of flowers and letters, all sitting on top of a granite boulder.
The countryside here has completely changed from the last few days. All open rolling hills with big rocky outcrops that look like granite or basalt — remind me a bit of the Cooma-Monaro district. All the houses and farm buildings are now made of stone.
I saw my first bull. He was just standing there on a hilltop in silhouette, as though he'd been reading the tourist brochures and practising how to stand and look most imposing.
I also met a flock of goats on the road, 30 or so of them, tinkling along with their bells, an elderly peasant in his floppy hat nudging them along with a staff.
The last 30km to Castelo de Vide were hard — I was hungry and tired and it had been a long day. It wasn't made any easier by being a hill-top town, so the last 5km were a climb up to the town! Somewhere around Nisa the sun finally came out, so I was steaming gently. My shirt had changed instantly from being wet with rain, to being wet with sweat.
The tourist office here speaks no English, but that's not really a problem, I've got a map of the town. Sat down for a while to read the map and the Lonely Planet, then walked around the corner to the nearest pensâo. I was lazy, hot and tired, so I didn't ask how much it would be, just plonked myself down and then had a good, long, warm shower — frightening myself half to death when I stepped on one end of the bath and the whole thing tipped up and threatened to turn over!
Dinner wasn't that appetizing, a very greasy and salty fried, chips and some pickled cauliflower. Hunger added flavour though, I ate the lot and then felt bloated and unwell. The coffee machine was broken — unheard of — so I had to walk around the corner to another café for a post-dinner coffee.
Where?
Tomar Abrantes, Gavião, Tolossa, Arez, Nisa, Castelo de Vide
Sun, 27 Sep 1998
Sunday: Alcobaça to Tomar // at 00:00
Today: 86.04km
Trip: 353.5km
Today — off to visit the Knights Templar....
Those church bells that I noticed yesterday woke me with a vengence this morning. I shall have to try and remember not to stay quite so close to a church on a Saturday night! I've no idea when they started calling people to mass, but I'm sure it was still dark.
Rolling hills have a problem when you're on a touring bike with a tonne of luggage — you just can't roll up them! Its 40km/hr down one side, then oh so quickly the bike slows to 10km/hr up the next one, with a rapid change through the gears at the top and bottom of each one.
One overriding impression of today's ride is the amount of litter on the roadside; water bottles of all kinds, and an enormous number of used disposable nappies. I don't think its a population thing, I think its just cultural that people throw rubbish wherever they like, with the assumption that a beggar or a street sweeper will pick it up. The water bottles are because nobody drinks tap water, the nappies I guess are a a product of a strongly Catholic country.
I finally saw my first wild animal today — just a magpie. Other than that, the only thing on the roads were more dead dogs, cats and rats...
Some road works and new roads around Leiria had appeared since my map and guide book were produced, mistakenly, I detoured down a steep road then realised that I had to turn around and ride back up it again! Once in the centre of town I made it to the Tourismo and met a girl who spoke perfect English with an incredibly attractive English/American/Portuguese accent. She also speaks fluent French and Spanish, and passable German, something I'm finding quite often here. My lack of languages — and Australian schooling's lack of languages in general — are really bothering me.
She tried her best to inundate me with maps, brochures, booklets and souvenirs of the region, and I had to explain that there simply wasn't anywhere to carry them on my bike, so only the most essential were kept. I think I ended up with a tiny ashtray and a ruler — hardly essential really, but it was important to keep her happy!
Somewhere along the road today I had passed a sign pointing to the town of “Châos”, I nearly stopped to take a picture, but was content to just ride past chuckling. Half an hour later there was another sign to the same town and someone had stopped to photograph it — I guess they must have been English or American. It did make me wonder what the name meant in Portuguese though...
The road from Leira was very quiet, hardly any traffic, but the blackberries grow right out across the lane. I have to keep reminding myself not to run over them, a puncture from the thorns would be irritating! No other hardware failures though... touch wood. The broken clip on my pannier is 75% gone, soon it will be time for more rope and wire.
At some point I looked up and saw a castle on the top of the nearest hill and realised that I've become inured to them. Only the spectacular ones bring themselves to my attention now!
After arriving in Tomar I spiralled about as seems to happen at each new town, then found the Tourismo and met another very helpful girl. More piles of maps and pamphlets, and directions to a couple of the nearest pensôes. For some reason I didn't want to try the first one and headed to another just up the main street — a nearly impassable main street, as it is in the process of being dug up and turned into a pedestrian-only thoroughfare.
Pensâo Luz is the first place I've stayed where I've got my own bathroom. I can rest my back against one wall of the bathroom, place the palms of my hands flat on the opposing wall, and not quite straighten my arms, but it is a bathroom... In fact, judging by the smells from the plumbing, maybe a room with a bathroom isn't such a good idea!
I cleaned up, then brought the bike in and locked it up in the courtyard. People here are constantly amazing me, falling over themselves to get me to bring the bike up the stairs into the room, or into the courtyard. It contrasts strangely with the looks I'm getting from some of them when I ride past. Its tempting at times to say “I come in peace and mean you no harm.”
Walked up to the Templar's fortress — HUGE! You could drive a bus through the halls, but as usual in places I've visited, there's no brochures, no maps, no explanations of anything — not in English, not even in Portuguese. Also typical, everything was covered in litter, and symbolic of the attitude was the guy I saw who stepped into the garden and pissed against the fortress wall in broad daylight — less than 100m from the toilets. The lack of signage seems to extend to the road signs as well, I don't think I've yet seen one that includes any distances...
On the way back down the hill I dropped in and visited the Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Conceiçâo — the church of the Conception. Despite appearances, my travels aren't turning into a religious pilgrimage — I did bypass Fatima today! It is very apparent that the whole country is oozing with Catholicism though.
Back to more prosaic matters, a seat in a café, a beer to sip, and time to write in my journal. The whole attitude to food and drink and cafés is very civilised. I'm enjoying it immensely. Nowhere does there seem to be any problems with one person eating out alone, its just “Mesa para uma,” and shift the tables around a little so that a table for one appears, usually with a view of the street or passersby for interest.
Dinner this evening was a little above the budget, mostly due to $800.00 for a half bottle of wine, well above what I've been paying other nights! It was worth it though, to accompany the magnificent grilled sardines and the rest of the meal. Eating and sipping my wine, relaxing and watching the world go by outside the door. A fine place to be.
Where?
Sat, 26 Sep 1998
Torres Vedras to Alcobaça // at 00:00
Today: 74.8km
Trip: 264.1km
Dinner last night was a bit of a dud, and entirely my fault. I took the easy way out and ordered “Ementa Turistica”. The tourist menu consisted of steak, egg and chips, presumably the only thing that the Portuguese believe that the English will eat... maybe not that far from the truth. I wasn't confidant enough to try picking anything else, I guess it serves me right!
All my clothes had dried overnight, and luckily I heard the rain start at around 5AM, in time to leap out of bed and grab them in off the window sills where they were hanging.
I took a little more care in attaching the panniers this morning, and added an extra ocky-strap to try and take some of the strain off the half-broken clip. The panniers are nearly eighteen years old and have served me exceptionally well, its just inconvenient for them to start falling apart right here and right now!
The first hour of riding was again very reminiscent of riding at home. Miles and miles of eucalypt forests, all smelling strongly after the rain. Only the odd vineyard and the style of the buildings to remind me I wasn't back in Australia.
One thing that did surprise me was the almost total lack of wildlife. I don't think I've seen any animals at all, the only birds have been a few goldfinches, and the only road-kill has been the ubiquitous rats and cats — again, of roughly equal sizes.
I stopped at the walled city of Obidos, luckily beating the tourist coaches there — since it is apparently a very popular destination — and had the place almost to myself. I found it beautiful, wandered around the tiny alleys for about an hour, walked along the city walls above the shops and took some photos. My timing was impeccable, as I headed away from the city a group of ten tour busses was arriving in the car-park outside! I'd recommend to anyone that they visit, but that they arrive as early in the day as possible.
The road had a long gradual climb towards Alcobaça and I slowly overtook a long, strung-out group of people walking along the road near the youth hostel — they all either cheered or jeered as I passed... The former, I hope!
It was siesta time in Alcobaça when I arrived, so I stopped and sat in the sun in the park outside the monastery with my shoes off, toes wriggling in the grass, beer in my hand and enjoying life. Eventually the town came back to life and I booked a room at a pensâo, “Coraçôes Unidos” — the United Lovers, I think. It has a lumpy bed, it opens directly onto the main street and there are evil smells coming from the plumbing, but its only for one night, and the courtyard is just the right size to contain one bicicletta.
I spent my money and went on the tour around the monastery, the “Mosteiro de Santa Maria de Alcobaça”. It is amazing... and enormous! The nave is fantastic, I just loved the place! The monastry is just across the road from the pensâo, from inside my room, the bells calling everyone to mass are incredibly loud!
I tried to visit the Museo Vinho, the wine museum, getting back on my bike and riding off through the town. It should have been open, and according to the sign on the locked door, it was open, but the doors were locked and nobody was around. Off to see the castle ruins on the hill above the town — I don't think they could get much more ruined and still be recognized as part of a castle!
All this exercise had worn me out, so a siesta of my own was called for before dinner — and what a dinner it turned out to be. I ate in the restaurant downstairs in the pensâo, a huge and filling meal, and cheap too! After dinner I needed a walk, so spent the rest of the evening walking around the town and feeling pretty good — then sat in a bar sipping a coffee while I eyed a bottle of Absinthe on the shelves. I was too tired and too full from my meal to start to get experimental with the Absinthe, so I just sat there, watching the life in the bar.
Where?
Fri, 25 Sep 1998
Sintra to Torres Vedras // at 00:00
Today: 65.4km
Trip: 186.9km
The weather today conspired to attempt to make me grumpy with the world — but I'm refusing to not enjoy it all!
This morning there was more uncomfortable conversation with Ricardo's mother in my mutilated Portuguese as I packed up and settled my bill, then — much relieved — left and rode back into Sintra. Most of my clothes from yesterday are still wet and my shoes are soaked. It was not a pleasant feeling putting them on at the start of the day.
I met two Irish guys in a pasteleria at breakfast and had a brief conversation over pastries and coffee before leaving them and riding off into the thick fog towards the Moor's Castle on the “hill”. Hardly a hill, it felt as though I was back home riding up Mount Dandenong tourist road, only with the addition of the weight of panniers, and the added hazard of the mist. To add to the familiarity, the forest is mainly eucalypts and wattles!
I didn't get to see the castle because it was too far off into the fog. After parking my bike in the deserted car-park in the forest I started walking out towards it along the path, then felt unhappy about leaving everything unattended. I hurried back along the track to find my bike almost completely surrounded by mangy feral cats, all of them tiny. It gave new meaning to the old saying “rats as big as cats.”
Back onto the road and up the rest of the hill to the Palace, I parked my bike with the gatekeeper and went on the tour with the two Irish lads. It rained again while we were there and the two of them kept joking about the mist and fog — and how if they'd wanted fog, they could have stayed home in Ireland. All the postcards and pictures we could see showed a blue sky and magnificent views, we had to be content with peering four metres at the nearest parts of the building!
On the way back down I started to head for Convent dos Capuchos, but after about 3km of wet hilly riding on increasingly slippery cobblestones, I turned around and headed back. I then tried to visit Montserat gardens, but this time the road was so steep that I could barely keep the front wheel on the ground, and again the cobblestones defeated me! The ride back down to Sintra was exciting, with heavier mist and more leaves over the road as well — to top it off, one of the clips holding my left-hand pannier onto the bike has started to crack. I've no idea who long it will last, I guess it'll be time for wire and rope when or if it breaks.
After Sintra I headed towards Ericeira on the coast with the mist finally turning to rain; the rain gradually got heavier... and heavier. As I got closer to the coast a good strong wind came blasting in off the Atlantic, driving the rain straight into my eyes and soaking me again. I refused to get depressed, it was all still too novel, just kept spinning the pedals around, with the occasional toot from behind to let me know someone was passing.
I'd heard a great deal about Portuguese drivers, most of it from English sources, and about how dangerous they were and warning cyclists that they took their life in their hands just by being on the roads — on the contrary I found them incredibly polite, they seem to happily treat me just like any other slow-moving piece of farm machine — of which there are many — and just sit behind me waiting to go past. I think I have more close calls in one day riding in Melbourne than I've had so far this week!
It was a relief to arrive in Torres Vedras, the Turismo staff were helpful and sent me on my way to a pensâo — I think it is $3500.00 for the night. The proprietor spoke no English, but it was fairly obvious why I was there and so we stumbled through our arrangements. Stripping off my soaking gear I had a shower and rinsed it all, then the sun came out and I was strolling around in warm dry clothes and everything felt good.
Draped all my gear over everything in the room to dry and headed out for a walk to explore the town. A couple of coffees in a random café, then up to the ruined old castle which I had all to myself. I tried to get back down around the town towards its famous aqueduct, but it seemed to be on the far side of the railway line and I couldn't figure out how to get over there, so just made myself content with a view from a distance. Then back into town, to sit and read, and watch the girls go by.
After a while it was time to go back to the pensâo, the sun was setting and lighting up the ruined castle — it looked far better than when I had been up there earlier. In this light it looked mysterious and haunting, when I was there it just looked like ruined old walls, and hadn't inspired me to photograph it at all. I took a photo from the window, wrote a bit in my diary, and headed out for a meal...
Where?
Thu, 24 Sep 1998
Lisbon to Sintra // at 00:00
Today: 100.3km
Trip: 112.9km
This morning I rode slowly down through Lisbon, motorists who'll happily double park and block the trams or go through red lights without batting an eye just lean on the horn if one cyclist slows them down. I'm convinced that I'm the only cyclist in Lisbon anyway...
I made it to the Plaça without too much of a problem and sat down to get my bearings and for some much needed breathing space. It was getting warmer, with a clear, cloudless sky — unlike yesterday. I say for a while watching the baby trams whirr past before heading on down the river towards Belém.
Belém was a nice place to visit — as soon as I got out of Lisbon proper, things improved immensely. However, it was mentally up and down all day long.
The coast between Estoril and Cascais was a mass of tourist developments. Just miles of concrete hotels — very ugly. At the opposite end of the scale from ugly was the girl who appeared from nowhere and cycled past me towards Belém. A quick shouted “Ola” and she was gone, although a few hours later I saw her again, heading back the other way.
Somewhere near Estoril my front derailleur cable half snapped, around a third of the strands parted suddenly, leaving me feeling foolish for not packing a spare cable. The Estoril tourismo directed me to a bike shop near Cascais, but no matter how much I tried I couldn't locate it after three passes through the town. Then the Cascais Tourismo directed me to another shop, but I couldn't find that one either. To maintain my flagging spirits I stopped for a late lunch at a café then managed to bite on a fish bone and jam it irretrievably between my teeth.
I'd given up on the bike shops and was all ready to cross my fingers and leave the chain on the middle ring when a guy rode past in the forests and without thinking, I asked him in English if he knew of the bike shops. Not only could he understand, but he led me to a shop that a friend of his operated out of the garage at the side of his house! When I arrived, Vasquez just looked at me and rattled off, “parlez vous Francais? Speak English? Habla Español?” all in the one breath — leaving me feeling linguistically stupid, a feeling I was to become used to!
Vasquez not only fixed my damaged derailleur cable, he started fiddling and wouldn't let me leave until he'd adjusted spokes, tightened cables, tuned the brakes and so on. On top of that he refused to charge me, claiming that it was the least he could do for someone touring in his country!
I rode off smiling from ear to ear and feeling good, spinning the pedals around through the little villages on down to Cabo da Roca — the Cape of the Rock, the western-most point of Europe. It's renowned for the stormy seas that crash upon the cliffs, but today for my visit it was as flat as a mill-pond. One event that stuck in my mind was when riding along a narrow road through one village, a tourist coach was heading towards me along the lane, towards a squeeze point where only one vehicle at a time could pass. I reached the gap just ahead of the bus and with good grace the driver just waved me through — I was amazed. I'm sure that in Australia I would have just received a blast on the horn and been run off the road.
Leaving Cabo da Roca there was a long grind back up to the main road, and I then chased the daylight and drizzling rain to get to Sintra before nightfall. I arrived just as it started raining properly and discovered that I couldn't make head or tail of the map in my guide book, then got to the Tourismo to find that the hostel I was intending to stay at is closed for renovations and all other accomodation in town is booked out for the night! Taking pity on me, they found me a room in a home-stay with a family. It was a couple of kilometres back out of town, and the rain turned torrential as I was getting there. I found out later that this was the tail end of a hurricane that had just devastated half of the Carribean, and was now soaking Portugal for the better part of a week!
Understandably, the family that I lodged with don't speak a word of English, and I was so exhausted that I couldn't put together enough Portuguese to understand or be understood. Again I felt useless not being able to communicate. I sat stupidly, as 10 year-old Ricardo wanted to know everything about me in his broken English, while his mother just whisked off my drenched clothing, dumped an enormous bowl of stew in front of me, then stood watching while I ate it.
At 9:00 PM I was in bed, exhausted after an event-filled day — my first real day of cycle touring in a foreign country.
Where?
Wed, 23 Sep 1998
Lisbon // at 00:00
Today: 0km
Trip: 8.3km
At seven pm I found myself sitting on the Paseo at Expo '98, resting my aching legs and writing about the day. I'd been on my feet since 9AM.
Breakfast was the first priority, pastry e um bica in a café, standing at bar with the rest of the patrons. An ordinary request and a simple one, but buying the breakfast and sipping my coffee increased my confidence 100%. The next priority was to try and find a cheaper pensâo for tonight — cheaper, quieter, and possibly safer... I'm not sure what other business goes on in the pensâo, but judging by some of the ladies nearby in the streets, it isn't the classy end of town, and I didn't feel comfortable leaving my bag and bike in a ground floor room with no glass and only half-open wooden shutters across the windows.
The first two pensôes I visited were full, then the tourist information telephoned a few for me and sent me off to one in Baixa — when I got there it was no longer vacant! Everywhere I went I felt that I was being stared at because of um bicicleta, I did get shouted at by a shoe-shine guy when I tried to lock my bike up on the street. I guess it was blocking too much of the miniscule footpath and potentially damaging his passing trade.
The girl in the full pensâo laughed when she saw the bike from the window — in a friendly, amused way — then gave me directions to another pensâo, about three kilometres away back in the direction I'd just come from!
Almost impossible to ride in Lisbon, I walked there pushing my bike, ended up soaked in sweat and very nearly couldn't locate it since the door is unmarked. For $5500.00 for the night, my bag and bike and I are all comfortably located for the night, safe up on 3 Andar — the third floor.
I mentioned to the pensâo's manager that I was going to Expo and he immediately delved into a desk drawer and handed me a free ticket! Labelled at $2500.00 — student discount — it was still better than the $5500.00 that I had been expecting from all the brochures. He said that the tourist office had handed them to all the pensâo operators for international visitors.
I caught the metro to the Expo site and then spent the afternoon seemingly queueing for a long time and seeing the insides of pavillions for a short time. There are so many people here! Expo closes at the end of the month, I wonder what it would have been like just after the Expo opened?
The highlight of the afternoon was the aquarium — huge — it was around 8m deep. According to the brochures it is the largest in the world, and packed with fish and sharks, and one enormous grouper. Another tank was square, about 3m on a side, and just full of the most amazing multi-coloured anemones.
On the negative side, all the food and drink and souvenirs are expensive, but I was half expecting that. Still, $900.00 for an open baguette seems high!
After sundown I stayed to watch this evening's free concert. There's one on every night, tonight it was Lou Reed. Standing here in a packed stadium watching Lou Reed is amazing. 10 or 20 thousand people, I have no idea. Just an incredible feeling, despite the strangeness of him singing in English, and all the fans screaming in Portuguese. Regrettably I had to leave before it finished, hurrying off to catch the last metro at midnight, only to be handed a brochure at the station saying that they were open until 3:00AM for the last few days of Expo. Oh well, by now I was so tired I was ready to go home and sleep regardless.
Where?
Photos
Tue, 22 Sep 1998
Lisbon // at 00:00
Today: 6.4km
Trip: 8.3km
At some strange time in the morning I was flying over Romania — I think. An hour in Frankfurt and then breakfast on the flight. Somewhere out over th Black Sea there was a magnificent thunderstorm to watch, all the lightning playing around below the plane.
Singapore airport seemed huge, we all had to walk for miles to get from the Qantas flight to the check-in counter, then almost all the way back to get to the departure lounge for the Lufthansa flight. My seat was well back behind the wing, and the engines, and fairly noisy. On the plus side, the seat next to me was broken. After trying to fix it and seat three different passengers there, eventually the cabin staff gave up and left it vacant, leaving only two of us in a block of three — almost roomy for the economy cabin.
As a reminder not to pre-judge people into racial stereotypes I'll only have to think of the first couple I sat next to. Since it's a German airline, I had thought that the guy sitting next to me looked to be a fairly typical, large, florid-faced German. Then he turned to me and opened his mouth “Gidday, me name's Bruce, this is my wife Kathleen. How are ya?” — I nearly burst out laughing.
In Singapore we had to go through the metal detectors and security gates again. I placed my pocket knife and bike tools in the tray instead of leaving them inside my bag. One of the guards then spent several minutes looking puzzled while he examined the allen keys and discussed them in great detail with the other guards — maybe worried that I'd start dismantling the aircraft. Eventually he handed them back and sent me on my way.
A couple of minutes later there was an announcement over the PA system calling me over to the desk. I've no idea what it was all about, without a word to me they took my boarding pass off me, tore it up, printed out a new one and handed it to me — re-arranging the seating I guess. When I sat back down all the people around me wanted to know what it was all about — shame I didn't know!
Flying over Saudi Arabia — at least I think that's where it was — some of the cities and patterns of lights looked amazingly beautiful and peaceful. The air was very clear and the looked like patterns of lace against the ground.
I hadn't realised that there was an hour or so of sitting around in Frankfurt between my flights — I'll have to start reading itinaries more carefully in future. There was nowhere much to sit and absolutely everyone in Germany seemed to be smoking. I spent the time watching people; business people travelling, families on holidays, attractive young girls on backpacking trips....
Once I got to Lisbon it took a little while to find my bike, since it was a large item, it was one of the last things off the aircraft. No problems at all, no damage to the bike — and I didn't even have to show my passport to get out through customs! It was hot, overcast, and very humid so I fiddled about getting changed and setting up my bike, then loaded up the panniers and headed out the door into Lisbon. By the time I left the terminal, the customs people had left, it felt strange just walking past their empty desks, I kept thinking that someone would run out of a back room and demand to see passport or visa.
Straight out of the airport, remember to ride on the right-hand-side of the road, then the roundabout from hell! I'd been warned about it sometime previously, and it lived up to the warnings. Four lanes wide, cobble-stone surface, traffic lights on all six roads, no visible road laws and a set of tram lines through the middle! It was with a mighty grin and a great sense of achievement that I successfully navigated my way around and headed on down towards the city.
Four kilometres down the road and the third remaining Michelin tube burst! Again I thought it was on one of the spoke nipples. Punctures on a loaded touring bike are an order of magnitude more annoyance than on an everyday ride. I sat down under a tree, unpacked everything, changed the rear tube, repacked the bike and rode off, all the while watched by four silent old men who sat on a bench nearby.
I saw only one other bike on the road and I think it too belonged to a tourist, it surprised me since I thought that with the economy and history, there would have been people on bikes everywhere. As it turned out, I saw very few bikes in the whole country.
My first impressions of Lisbon were that the semi-cobbled streets were absolutely packed with tiny European cars, mostly FIATs and SEATs. Four or five story buildings on either side, tiny footpaths, not a sign of anything green or a tree or a park anywhere. The cobblestones are laid in geometric patterns of white limestone and black basalt, sunglasses are a necessity!
Accomodation is at a premium — probably because of the World Expo. — the cheapest I can find is apparently $7000 for a room in a Pensâo! Not quite what the guidebooks had implied, this is almost double what I was expecting. The reality of not being able to speak Portugese sunk in and I started to feel very vulnerable in my hunting around for a room.
I found a place for $6000, chickening out of speaking Portugese, I first asked in English and was relieved when I was understood. Spent the rest of the afternoon having an afternoon nap while my body thought about timezones and then headed out about seven for an exploratory walk.
A very hilly place, the cable-car trams run up some of the hills, and the maps are nearly useless. I wandered about Bairro Alto then down to the river — the Rio Tejo — and back through the Baixa district. By then I was so hungry that I had the courage to try for dinner — again the staff spoke English so I managed to avoid Portuguese, but my proposed budget is taking a beating!
After dinner I walked around the Castle and Castelo district, then down through the twisty lanes of Alfama before heading back again through Baixa and home to bed at eleven.
Where
Mon, 21 Sep 1998
Leaving Melbourne // at 00:00
Today: 2.5km
Trip: 2.5km
Woohoo! The adventure begins!!
Evan and I sat around chatting at breakfast then he headed off to work, and I bummed around making time pass for the rest of the morning.
I decided that the easiest way to get myself, bag and bike to the airport was to ride down to Chappell street with my bag on my back, then head to Flinders street before catching a cab to the airport... I made it to the bank, and successfully transferred $1500 into my Visa account, before heading on. Wouldn't believe it, heading up St Kilda road I punctured my front tyre! Not the tyre really — the second of the expensive new michelin tubes burst where it may have been caught against a spoke nipple!
My newish Axiom pump started falling apart too — a truly auspicious start to the trip!
One of the worlds most garrulous cab drivers then drove me to the airport, talking of when he and his brothers had ridden up to Queensland as youngsters and all the pranks that they had played, on each other and anyone else around...
Once at the airport there came the task of fitting norky bike into a bike box — not a problem really, the Qantas bike boxes are enormous. The International checkin counter didn't have any bike boxes and sent me off to find the Domestic checkin counter, but other than a long walk I got the box I needed. I think I could fit two bikes in one with a bit of effort! I just hope the bike doesn't rattle around too much. The staff didn't charge me the $20 for the box, since both of them assumed that the person at the other counter had done so.
Another good start, I left my passport at the check-in counter with the attendant and she had to come running after me to hand it back. Felt very foolish as a result, although she claimed it was her fault for getting distracted when handling the extra-large bicycle box.
Sat around in the airport reading the Lonely Planet guide to Portugal and waiting for my flight. I'm glad I bought the book this morning, I hadn't realised just how different Portugal and Spain are... Sitting around it all seemed so unreal, I know I'm sitting in the departure lounge about to go overseas, but it still doesn't seem to have sunk in or make much sense.
Sat, 29 Aug 1998
Preparations for travel // at 00:00
Left Evan's place around 10AM, then went and payed my last rent for Rosella street, a symbolic thing. Then off to breakfast at Rita's before going home and trying to get some fresh air into the place. It is an absolutely beautiful day — later in the day I sat on the beach at St Kilda, surrounded by hundreds of people all lazing about....
I called in at Gran Prix cycles to pick up a few odds and ends — some replacement sunglasses for the ones that I broke recently, new brake pads and a couple of inner tubes. I was talking about how I would be going away touring and was looking for some decent inner-tubes, something a little better than the ordinary no-name Chinese rubber that most seemed to be made of. The guy in the shop swore that many people used 650c triathlon tubes in their mountain bikes, and that there was nothing better than the Michelin ones that he stocked... as a result, i spent around $70 in just a few minutes without even trying. Afterwards I headed off down the road to get a coffee, but left after a long wait with no waiter. Rode over to the Turtle Café in Elwood and had instant friendly service. Amazingly, I ran into an old acquaintance from Canberra — Phil — one of Spike's mountain biking friends. He told me that she's had a baby, something I had trouble getting my head around! Phil is currently working as a bike courier in the city.
Thu, 14 May 1998
Verbally Abused, then deliberately hit by car // at 21:00
Riding home from work along Willesden road Oakleigh at 17:05, there
were parked cars on the opposite side of the road and traffic from
head on passing. Somone in a car behind me decided they couldn't pass
me and the driver gave me a long blast on the horn which I ignored.
The car, (white Holden Commodore sedan, black tinted rear window,
rego. Vic. OXI-706, then pulled alongside with the occupants yelling
abuse, then swerved in at me, clipping my front wheel with their rear
bumper, then spun the wheels and drove off. Driver was not visible
due to the darkness of the window tint.
At the Willesden road-Poath road intersection the car was stopped for the traffic lights and as I tentatively rode past on the left, the passenger again yelled something at me and threw a cigarette butt at me as I rode past. I yelled out “Learn the road rules!” in the window and then rode up to Murrumbeena Police station. The police officer took the details on the back of a scrap piece of paper, stating that “I won't take a statement now, after I ring them up and find out what happened I'll get back to you tonight or tomorrow and we'll see whether you wish to take it further.”
The police officer called me back the following evening, stating that he had interviewed both occupants of the vehicle in person and “given them a right serve on their driving behaviour.” However, both deny that their vehicle hit me, deny that a cigarette butt was thrown, and claim that I swore and abused them first, so it was pointed out that it would be fairly pointless to take the matter further as it would be their story vs mine in court.
Sun, 10 May 1998
Halfway around the Bay today // at 00:00
Today: 111km
With much prodding and cursing, Andrew managed to wake us all up around 8am — nobody seemed to be in a morning mood. Breakfast was a leisurely affair, quickly devolving into a hectic ride and a flat-out sprint for the last kilometre in order to get onboard the 9am ferry! Kath and Ricardo had driven down in the car and convinced them to hold the ferry for us — but only just — the guy on the gate waved us in like a formula one flag marshall, and the ramp was being lifted as we crossed it!
A very pleasant warm crossing of the heads, then disembark and up the hill to Sorrento for coffee to complete the waking-up process.
The rest of the ride back was enjoyable despite a gentle headwind most of the way. I got told off for pulling away up the hills at Mt Martha, but that's nothing new. We all stopped for another bite to eat in Frankston and I spotted a poster advertising the Tea Party playing in Melbourne tonight. Then it was up Beach road for the last 50km to home.
Andrew faded badly, eventually stopping in St Kilda to catch a train the rest of the way, leaving the remaining four of us to ride back to Fitzroy to sit around at Paul's and talk and drink more coffee. I was in danger of falling asleep in my chair by the time Kath and Ricardo turned up with the luggage, but managed to drag myself up and rode down to Richmond station to catch the train home — absolute chaos since the footy had just finished at the MCG.
After a shower and a nap, a quick visit to the supermarket was needed. I came home with a pile of groceries — it was the first serious shopping I'd done since before Easter!
Back home again, it was off to bed — warm, happy, worn-out and very comfortable.
Sat, 09 May 1998
Halfway around the Bay today // at 00:00
Today: 134km
Got up bright and early to ride around to Paulus', then to sit around with coffees for half the day waiting for Evanovitch to turn up — he did have a reasonable excuse, having been working until 3am this morning.
Eventually the six of us were organised and headed off, Riccardo was having trouble keeping up, the poor lad hadn't been on a bike for years and decided to come along for fun! We stopped at Hoppers Crossing to wait for Kathy in the car, he got in and the remaining five kept riding.
Dropped in on some friends of Evan's who are rebuilding an old wooden yacht at a boatyard down near Geelong, then pushed on to Point Lonsdale, arriving there sore, tired, and in need of warm clothing, since the temperature had dropped.
Kathy and Riccardo arrived, then Mat and Jo from their boat-building, so we piled into the cars and headed into Queenscliffe for dinner at the pub. Pub number one was way too expensive, $4 for a pot of beer, so it was off to pub number two. A filling dinner, a rambling conversation, the purchase of a bottle of port, and back to the house to sip and to sleep.
Where?
Hoppers Crossing, Point Lonsdale, Queenscliff
Wed, 11 Feb 1998
Nearly “doored” by a Taxi driver // at 09:00
8:40 riding along Atherton Rd through Oakleigh, I had just left the traffic lights at the shops and had a two-tonne van overtaking me. A taxi (Vic. M-3631) pulled head-on into a parallel parking space, leaving at least a foot of his car sticking out into the traffic, as I drew alongside to ovetake, the driver threw open the door and stepped out without looking. The van to my right had to swerve to avoid hitting the door, I had slid to a stop inches from the driver and yelled. The driver swung his arms at me and screamed “Don't ride on the fucking road, dickhead!” As he seemed quite angry, I left the area, since I felt that he would attack me if I tried to point out that motorists in Australia are required to check before opening their car doors and it is an offence to hit someone with one!
